


The Lie of Christmas Pasta

by courfelicious



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Fluffy, Food, Hetalia, M/M, May cause cavities, PDA, Pasta, SO MUCH FLUFF, Swearing, also, aph, but it's romano so it may actually e mild swearing for him, lots of swearing, pasta issues, romericasecretsanta2015, way too domestic, well kinda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-27
Updated: 2015-12-27
Packaged: 2018-05-09 16:51:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5548025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/courfelicious/pseuds/courfelicious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Romerica Secret santa exchange 2015: America likes to pretend he hates pasta, but one day when he steals a bit from Romano’s plate when the other is not looking, he gets caught. Romano gets unusually excited, however, and tries to teach America how to cook pasta, but it doesn’t go too well…</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Lie of Christmas Pasta

**Author's Note:**

> So this was my present for the lovely Xime (xiime-hz.tumblr.com) in this year's Romerica Secret Santa <33 I hope you like it, and everyone else as well~ I, for one, certainly had fun writing it lol

America stared away at the fogged widow, chin resting comfortably on his left hand, mind lost in thoughts elsewhere. It had been a cold week, just like the weather forecast had said it would (for once spot on, to everybody's surprise). The snow hadn't begun to fall until the day before, thought, and despite having been some fully twelve hours by now since then, it had yet to stop.

Usually, the American wasn't one for cold weather. Sure, he loved winter sports and, in theory, the whole thing seemed fun, but once you desperately need to do some grocery shopping during the middle of a snow storm, and all the near by stores seem to be closed - or have already closed (and of course that would happen just when he needs them the most) - the fun parts just seem to not be so worthy it.

But not that day. That day he loved winter with everything he had. The fogged icy widow, in contrast with the warm interior of the living room, thanks both to the heather and the fire at the fireplace that cracked once and again, just made for the place to feel even more cosy. Today, he loved the idea of staying in, watching terrible afternoon television, and even worse Christmas themed films, preferably all while covered in blankets and with a nice cup of hot chocolate to keep one warm inside.

But, most of all, he loved how it gave him an excuse to cuddle with his boyfriend all day.

It helped that Romano happened to hate winter, specially winter at his home which was way too cold for him. But America loved that too, because then Romano would snuggle with him while spitfire cursing and steal all of his body heat. But the American seemed to be perpetually warm so that was no problem for him and, besides, the Italian had already stolen his heart, so what was one more thing anyway.

"Lunch is almost ready!", came the shout from the kitchen, yanking Alfred from his daydreaming.

"What are we having today, darling?", he asked all cheeky smile and sparkling eyes, while stretching like a big cat.

"Don't call me that, bastard!", was the answer, as expected, accompanied by a grimace and lightly blushing checks. When they had just started dating, the other would look redder than a fire truck every time the American came up with endearments, but he supposed the other must be getting used to them by now. It was still fun to mess with him though. "And nothing for you if you don't get your ass over here and help me right now!"

With a light, carefree laugh, the American finally got up and joined his lover in the next room.

"So, what are we having after all?", he whispered in the other's ear while quickly hugging the other nation from behind and kissing his check, before following to the cabinet to get the plates.

"Well, those of us with actual taste buds are having pasta with tomato sauce and chicken on the side. That being me. For you I made some smashed potato, since you're a child and refuse to taste new things."

"I'm not a kid!", countered the other, pouting slightly. It just made Romano's grin grow even more though. Oh sweet revenge...

"Right, you're more than that. You're a fucking brat with no taste whatsoever. I pity you though, must have been difficult growing up with that Eyebrows poisoning crap and all - he's obviously completely wrecked your taste buds."

"His food isn't all that bad you know? He's always been good at baking, and he's been improving a bit the last few decades. All that time spent with France must have been rubbing into him or something..."

"Tisk, I never thought I'd ever say this, but that pervert might actually be of some use then. To save us all from that guy's cooking, that's almost heroic.", he finished, with a cheeky smile, giving the other a coy look.

"Hey!", was the offended answer, "I thought I was your hero!"

"Well, if you wanna be heroic so bad then help me carrying all this shit to the fucking table already!", said Romano, rolling his eyes as he left the kitchen. "Oh, and don't forget to get the good wine I bought us yesterday, not that shitty grape juice thing you like..."

Romano stopped on his track, shocked. He could not believe his eyes. As he turned back to remind his boyfriend, the scene before him had the poor nation paralysed. The last few months the Italian had come to accept such a thing would never happen, even though God knows he had tried. So. Hard. To have it happen, but the other man seemed to be just as stubborn as him, so he had eventually dropped the matter... And yet.

There, just before him, stood America still as a rock, looking right back at him with horror in his eyes, caught sneakily eating his pasta.

He had told Romano he hated pasta.

"You don't really hate pasta, do you.", said Romano, calmly.

It had not been a question.

"Roma... I can explain..."

Now, America was terrified. He knew how to deal with an explosive Romano. Romano who was a ticking time-bomb, just waiting to go off at any giving minute.Always unpredictable. He was used to the shouting and the crying, he had grown up with England after all (well, sort of - when the other nation had bothered to drop by at least). But ice cold anger was new for him in the Southern Italian and, to be honest, he didn't quite know what to do.

And it had all just started as a joke, really. A little white lie. He had just wanted to know how the other would react, they hadn't even stated going out yet by then.

They had gone to a restaurant one exceptionally hot summer day in Italy, after a meeting, and without thinking too much, knowing how much Romano loved the dish, he had told the other nation that he himself wasn't very found of pasta. That, in fact, he much preferred potatoes. Specially fried ones.

And there had been lots of indignant shouting and ranting. America had laughed his ass off the whole time and, after that day, promptly forgotten about the event.

Except the next time they went out to eat the Southern Italian had remembered and ordered him a dish with potatoes. Sure, he had mocked him while doing so, but it was the thought that counted. And it had been just so endearing, that the American didn't have the heart to tell the other one it had all been but a silly joke.

He'd told himself he would definite tell the other though. However, days turned into weeks, which turned into months, and then they started dating. Something would always come up and he wouldn't quite be able to do it. Sometimes the topic of the conversation would suddenly change, or it was the timing, him just not wanting to kill the mood. Others, he would just forget. It became easy, second nature. He almost could believe the lie himself.

And now, what would be of him? Of their relationship?

"I'm so, so sorry! I didn't mean to.."

"Get the pots, bastard, we're cooking more pasta. And you're helping me."

"... What?", of all the possible outcomes, he did not expect that. Romano seemed to be glowing with excitement and fighting a lost battle against a smile. He didn't know what was happening, but maybe it would be better to just roll with it."Okaaay."

"Well, first, we must fill the pot with water. Not too much, just enough for the amount of pasta we're cooking. Yes, yes, that's enough. Now give it to me."

America did so, eyebrows arched in curiosity, the ghost of a smile on his lips.

"Then, well, that's not very traditional, but the next step is to THROW ALL THE WATER ON THE LYING BASTARD NEXT TO YOU!"

The America tried to dodge, but Romano was quicker, the kitchen too small and him too tall. In the end, he hadn't stood a chance and. Seconds later, he stood dripping wet in the middle of the room.

"Okay, I know that wasn't very heroic of me..."

"You lied to me"

"I know!! But.."

"For MONTHS"

"Yes, I know! And I wanted to tell you the truth, dude! I did! But something would always come up and, to tell you the truth, I kinda liked that you would always cook something special for me you know? It was really cute..."

"It wasn't cute, you inconsiderate mother fucker", still cursing, though mostly in Italian, Romano grabbed the front of his boyfriend's soaked shirt and yanked him closer.

"So... Ugh... A-Am I forgiven?", asked the other, taken aback, but still hopeful.

Romano eyed the other's expression. The American's messy, now dripping hair, the sparkling blue eyes, the askew glasses - hanging poorly from his slightly freckled nose. The tense lines between his eyebrows, waiting anxiously for his reaction.

"Maybe... But that will depend on how good tastes your pasta after I teach you how to make it properly, because I'm not getting any-fucking-where near a kitchen for a fucking month, you idiot piece of shit"

"And also", he added, after a moments consideration "... of how well you perform tonight".

Though blushing heavily, the American was more than eager to agree to (most) of the terms. In fact, he decided it would be best to start working on it just then, by closing all that unnecessary space between their mouths.

The food, however, ended up sadly forgotten.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all for reading! You can find me on tumbler at @aphport on tumblr <3


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